


one (drabble)

by Julziebee



Category: (dream smp), Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: ABSOULTELY NOT A SHIP, Angst, Anyways, Canon Compliant, Dream is only mentioned, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Please don't hate me lol, They are minors, but this is NOT A SHIP, you will die by my blade bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28043436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julziebee/pseuds/Julziebee
Summary: henlobasically. with the recent events of the dream smp, i had an evil idea. both c!tommy and c!tubbo only have one canon life left so let the evil begin--It’s raining.It’s always fucking raining.
Relationships: Tommy and Tubbo - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	one (drabble)

It’s raining. 

It’s always _fucking_ raining. 

It mocks him. Water used to be so beautiful. He remembers sitting by the water and watching the sun, feeling warm and cooled at the same time. A perfect balance of fire and water. But the water stopped being pretty when the sun failed to rise and set; the water stopped reflecting the sky and the world around it. Tubbo stopped watching the sunset, so the water only became another movement. 

Rain is often compared to bullets, but Tubbo has felt bullets before, and the difference between the rain and gunfire is shocking. Rain is fast, and unrelenting, but it doesn’t bleed you immediately. Bullets have grace and mercy, and even if the first hit isn’t fatal, you’re dead within a matter of minutes. The rain will rub you raw, and scrub away at your hair, skin, nails until you’re left as a husk of a person, smoking with decay while the rain carries on. Tubbo doesn’t want to be left smoking in the rain, so he runs.

It’s been proven that if you run in the rain, you get more wet than you would walking. The thought briefly crosses his mind as he runs through the White House doors and all the way out of L’manberg. He runs out, out, out until he can’t see anything that looks familiar. He runs until the trees have grown so thick, until the ground has grown so uneven that he has to watch his step or something bad could happen.

This is the only time he’s thankful for the rain, because he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he reaches a clearing, torches scattered throughout, and a little white tent in the distance.

Crying had been an afterthought, recently. Being president meant being the leader, and a leader who cried because he lost his friend was certainly not a strong leader, and certainly couldn’t lead a whole country. Being a leader meant dealing with situations head on, and listening to other people when making desicisons. Being a leader meant being Tubbo, not Schlatt, nor Wilbur. Tubbo had to stay sane, or else L’manberg would fall.

_I wonder how that’s gone_ , Tubbo thought as he tripped on a root next to a tree. He fell face-first into the mud, and choked on his frustration. His throat was raw, and he felt like screaming, and he couldn’t breathe. There were so many things he couldn’t do, and that fact fell on top of him like a boulder, crushing the bones in his back as well as his lungs. He chokes, and gasps, and reaches out for anything that he could grab onto. 

He picks himself up, dirty, soaking and sobbing, and runs into the clearing. He runs harder and faster than he ever has to the little white tent in the distance. His feet pound into the ground, and for a second he wonders if he’s leaving footprints, but then decides he can’t bring himself to care. There are other things he needs to take care of; this one is not as diplomatic. 

He pulls back the flap of the tent to find it empty. There’s a bed, a regular chest, and an ender chest. Tubbo wails because the chest reminds him of the explosion that cost him his sense of direction. He sits on the bed, which creeks under his weight, and he wonders about the last time Tommy slept. He grabs the blanket and holds it close to his chest and almost smiles because it smells like his friend. 

That thought alone causes him to completely break down all over again. Tommy has only had this blanket, and the ender chest, and the little white tent. He has only had himself, and that’s solely Tubbo’s fault.

He abruptly stands up and throws the blanket aside. He walks out of the tent and onto the dirt path, his shiny black shoes sinking in the mud. The rain beats down on his shoulders as he continues to Logstedshire. 

He watches his feet as he walks, and notices how there is no longer any part of him that isn’t drenched. He can imagine how horrible it’s going to feel and smell later, but he carries on anyway. His hands are in fists, and he can imagine that he looks damn near how he feels. He passes the Nether portal, and as soon as does so he hears it start, and hears someone walk through.

He freezes, and can suddenly feel how cold the rain is, and how dark the sky is. He doesn’t even breathe, and feels very much like a rabbit that’s just been spotted by a young child. This time, though, the child is older and not so much a child anymore. He is wiser, too, and speaks first.

“Leave.” He says. There is no bite to it, not even anger. Tubbo whips around, and sees plain detest drawn all over his friend’s face. Tommy begins to walk towards him. 

“Tommy-” Tommy brushes past him as if he’s already left. “Tommy,” He cries again, and Tommy hesitates, but continues to walk past him towards Logstedshire. 

For the first time in a long time, Tubbo follows him. 

“Please, Tommy, listen to me-” He tries, but his voice is muted against the sound of the rain. He follows Tommy into Logstedshire. 

“Leave,” Tommy repeats. “I won’t ask again.” He says as he pulls his axe out. Tubbo stands just outside the door, crying, not sure what to do.

On one hand, he should leave. He has no right to come back to Tommy and beg for his forgiveness after everything he’s done. He’s crossing a line that’s a mile wide and twice as deep, and it’s selfish and cruel, but he wants Tommy back. He knows he should leave, and he chokes again, crying harder than he can ever remember.

On the other hand, he’s the only one that can fix this. It was his decision to banish Tommy, so it should be his responsibility to apologize and bring him back. If anything, Tubbo just wants Tommy back, because he misses his friend more than anything in the world, and he’s ready to sacrifice that world if it meant Tommy was happy again. 

“Let me stay,” Tubbo begs. “Please, let me stay-” Tommy is directly in front of him in seconds, and presses the blade of the axe to Tubbo’s chest. Tubbo drops to his knees. 

“Don’t make me do this.” Tommy says. His lips are pulled into a taught frown. He pushes the axe forward and Tubbo starts to feel a soft pinch in the middle of his chest. “I don’t care anymore.” He says. He doesn’t move.

Tubbo and Tommy breathe together for a moment. Lightning strikes, and thunder follows soon after. Tubbo’s breathing gets more ragged as he gets angrier. 

“You know what? Fine.” He says he stands up and edges closer so the pain is less bearable. Half of his brain is yelling at him to stop, that he can’t be angry in this situation, not at Tommy. The other half doesn’t. “Fine. That’s fine. It’s not like I ran here, in the rain, completely broken inside cause I couldn’t stand the thought of you out here by yourself any longer. It’s not--it’s not like I haven’t been worrying about you, or wanting to come visit but not being able to because of my responsibilities. It’s not like I’ve tried to negotiate with Dream for hours upon hours, begging for visitation rights for you, for anything that meant we could go back to something semi-normal because I miss you so fucking much my heart hurts.” With each syllable, he raises his voice, and by the end of his rant he’s screaming in Tommy’s face.

“You’re right.” Tommy says. He drops the axe to the floor, and Tubbo looks at him confused.

“You--that’s it?”

“I mean, look at it. You’re right. You _didn’t_ worry about me, and you _haven’t_ been negotiating with Dream, because if you had you would have been here with me the whole time. You would have thought about your ‘responsibilities’, and you would have then thought about the amount of blood we’ve been through together, and you would have realized that oh, maybe there is something that’s been constant, that I’ve known this whole entire time, and hasn’t ever let me down. You wouldn’t have let me become this isolated, this hungry and tired and so close to--” He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “I reckon if you were in my place it wouldn’t feel like anything would have changed. And I can guarantee you, I would have been there. I would have.” He’s looking at the floor, at the discarded axe and the state of his shoes. His head is bowed in defeat, and his shoulders are slumped. The rain is pelting the back of his neck. 

“I will be.” Tubbo says, he laughs, but it’s empty. “I’m sorry. That’s--this isn’t funny, I just…” He buries his face in his hands. He sobs again, a quick jerk of his body. “I have never been so miserable. Thinking about everything in perspective is just ridiculous.” 

“Who’s perspective?” Tommy asks.

“Ours.” Tubbo replies. He supplies a small, sad smile. 

Tommy breaks, and his entire body reacts. At first, he looks like he’s bitten into a lemon, and he scrunches up his face. His body responds accordingly, shrinking back from Tubbo and into himself. Then, he starts to gently cry. He reaches out for Tubbo, who reaches for him, and the two hold onto each other as hard as they can. 

“I’m sorry.” Tubbo cries. “I’ll never leave your side again, I swear by it.” Tommy doesn’t say anything, and Tubbo knows he isn’t forgiven, but neither of them dare to let go.

The water starts to look clear again. The rain doesn’t look like a sheet of white pellets, but instead like jewels falling from the sky. The clouds are grey, but have layers, and hold the promise of greener pastures and brighter skies once they leave. The wind is blowing, and biting at their skin, but it reminds them that they are still alive, and that they’ve made it through the worst of the storm. 

“Still,” Tommy says after a beat. His breathing is ragged. “I’m still not allowed back. I love you, Tubbo, but I’m still stuck here. And--and I don’t know if I can go back. I’m not going to be seen as anything less than a deranged criminal, even if you are the one who clears me. I’m always going to feel like an outsider. It doesn’t matter.” He lets go, and slumps back, and Tubbo lurches forward and grabs onto his arms.

“No, no, I’ll go talk to Dream right now. I swear, I will.” Tommy looks up at him.

“I believe you.” Although it is raining, Tubbo can see a tear slip down his friend’s cheek. “I believe you.” He mouths ‘thank you’, and stops holding himself up. He begins to fall onto the floor of Logstedshire, and Tubbo’s heart jumps in his chest.

“Tommy,” Tubbo catches him before he smacks into the ground. 

“Toby,” he says. He’s crying. “I don’t want to die.” Tubbo pauses and gets a good look at his friend. His eyes are sunken into his skull, and his ribs are visible through the rips in his clothes. There is dirt under his nails and in his hair. He has little scrapes and bruises adorning his skin. His eyes are grey and his face is hollowed out and Tubbo swears he’s looking at a corpse. 

“You aren’t going to die, I’m going to go talk to Dream, right now. You’ll be home as soon as I talk to him, okay? I swear by it.” A few more tears slip down Tommy’s cheek. 

“I don’t want to die,” He repeats, with more urgency. Tubbo adjusts so he can rest Tommy’s head in his lap.

“You won’t. I’m right here, you know? I love you, too.” Tommy nods his head slightly.

“Yeah.” The rain hitting the dirt is almost peaceful. “I’m tired.” Tommy says. Tubbo brushes away the hair in his eyes.

“That’s--yeah, that makes sense. Do you think you can make it to your bed?” He looks out of the doorway at the little white tent, flapping in this distance. It can’t be more than a few yards, but the state Tommy’s in challenges the distance. Tommy chuckles.

“No, no. Can we just...sit here for a moment?” Tubbo chuckles too. He grabs his hand.

“Yes.”

“And then you’ll go get Dream?”

“I’ll go get Dream, and we’ll bring you back home. You can go back to your house, and get all your things. We can work on getting you a full set of Netherite, and I can ask Dream about your vice president position again. I can show you the bee farm I’ve made with Ranboo--I can show you the Christmas tree, and we can play chess together, and I’ll show you my new pet fox, Squeeks. We can--we can sit together and we can watch the sun again. Does that sound okay?” Tubbo asks. The rise and fall of Tommy’s chest is fatally slow, and Tubbo pretends not to notice.

“Sounds nice.” Tommy mumbles, and Tubbo grips his hand as hard as he can. Tommy squeezes back.

“It does, yeah, it does, so hold onto that, okay? Think about the sun, and the bee farm, and our home. It sounds so nice.” He squeezes Tommy’s hand.

Tommy doesn’t squeeze back. 

“Tom?” He doesn’t squeeze back. Tubbo shakes his shoulders, and when that doesn’t work, puts two fingers against his neck to check for a pulse. 

Death is as much of a process as life is. In death, you go through phases. The first is called _palor mortis_ , where your skin becomes grey and lifeless. Your eyes gloss over, too. The second is called _algor mortis_ , or the cooling of the body. When your heart stops, so does your blood flow. Because the blood stops, so does the heat. It’s fairly straightforward. The third is called _rigor mortis_. _Rigor mortis_ is when your limbs contract and fold inwards on themselves, and eventually stiffen completely. The final stage is _livor mortis_ , when all the blood in your body settles, and the skin there becomes purple, almost like a bruise. Swirls of purple and red, covered by a thin layer of this grey, waxy cellophane that used to make up a person. Then, you are dead.

The beginning of the decomposition flashes before Tubbo’s eyes.

“Tommy,” He screams. “Think about the sun, please,” He chokes out.

He falls over his friend, hugging him as close as he possibly can, screaming for him over and over until he can’t speak any more. 

He hears the groans of the dead from outside Logstedshire. One unsuspecting victim comes to the door. Tubbo wastes no time grabbing the axe.

“Get away from him!” He yells. He swings, recklessly, at the rotting flesh and bones that surround him. “Leave!” 

He grabs a hunk of flesh and devours it, crying and gagging as he does so. He can’t feel the poison taking over his body, but his subconscious tells him that it is. He can feel his muscles ache, though, and he can feel his lightheadedness. 

He drops the axe, and drops to the ground. Slowly, he crawls across the grass floor and drops down beside Tommy. He too is tired.

He looks at the sky, and the stars, and thinks about how beautiful they look, and how he wishes he could take a picture of them. He reaches for Tommy’s hand.

“Look at the stars,” He says. Tommy doesn’t squeeze back.

He takes out his bow, and a single arrow. He aims at those stars, thinking that if he shot at just the right angle, he could hit one, and bring it down. He could put it on display in L’manberg. And, if Dream decided to exile him, too, then he’d shoot another one, just for him and Tommy.

The arrow falls and strikes him in the ribs. He drops the bow. 

(Dream finds them hand in hand in the morning.)

**Author's Note:**

> HAHA please don't hate me please eye--
> 
> ALSO PLEASE NOTE 
> 
> this is almost like a thought-out headcannon, and is strictly about the characters, not tommy and tubbo themselves. this isn't a ship. this is the angst train pulling up to pain station, capiche?? i will smite you if you ship them. but i hope you enjoyed anyways lol. this is also my first fic in this fandom so if i got anything wrong please tell me!!


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